


shades of rouge

by beforenine (steakandchips)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Little bit of smut, M/M, Smut, charles is a server, dan is still a racer, one night stand? but it's not, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steakandchips/pseuds/beforenine
Summary: ricciardo sweeps the young server off his feet.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	shades of rouge

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if the writing got sloppy in the middle, i havent written anything since last year  
> pls remember these are notes of fiction!! respect the drivers <3 
> 
> i'm so proud of daniel for getting podium today!!! 
> 
> enjoy, comments are more than appreciated! xo

The atmosphere is soft.

There’s a golden glow coating the cream wallpaper of the restuarant, and even with the fine coating of cigarette smoke in the air, Charles is relaxed.

He likes his job. He likes- no _loves_ his coworkers. Likes the people, the celebrities, the artists, the dancers he gets to meet each night. The music playing through the radio is quiet but just enough to make the night conversations a little more interesting. He’s calm, a layer of happiness settling in his stomach again. Max meets his eyes as he passes a few of the booths, heading through the double doors into the depths of the kitchen, the squeak of the hinges crying shrill, smiling about a table he ever so _hates_ serving each time the couple walks through the door.

Polishing glasses behind the bar is boring, but it’s easy work.

-

They’re in town again tonight. The racing team. _Formula 1?_

Max scoffs at Charles and acts like he should be clued up on every sport to walk the face of the earth. Yeah, he knows them from his karting days where drifting was the only form of adrenaline, but those dreams faded back a few years ago. He’s content with where he is now.

He greets them politely and walks them, 6 of them, to the reserved booth by the warmer window corner. He recognises a few faces, they’re all dressed in suits rather than the heavy coloured leathers, but he still manages to pick out a few, Hamilton, Vettel, Bottas, the older ones. But then there’s one right at the end who _really_ catches Charles’s eye. And he’s not sure who he is, but he _wants_ to know. He’ll pester Max about it.

-

“The one with the curly hair.”

“Huh?” Max asks, half bent over to pick some beers out of the almost broken fridge.

“The racer with the curly hair, who is he?” Charles asks again as he polishes more champagne flutes, tipping his head softly to where they’re all gathered.

Max straightens up with a groan from behind the bar and blows a breath through his nose. “Ricciardo.” And Charles clicks his tongue. “Daniel. He transferred to Renault and he’s doing pretty well for himself. Rather be him than me.” Max chuckles as he stands beside Charles, clutching the beer bottles inbetween his fingers and under his arms, the cold turning his skin rouge.

Ricciardo. _Daniel,_ turns and looks over to the bar, his eyes softening as he looks right through Charles, his right arm hooked over the leather seat of the booth, a cigarette slipped inbetween his fingers. It makes him shiver and turn as red as Max’s arms under the cold bottles. Charles has to avert his gaze as he coughs bashfully, and over the heaviness of the clouds and music of the restuarant, he swears he hears Daniel laugh.

“Cool it Leclerc, you’re still on shift.” Max quips, a smile pulling at his lips as Charles glares at him, gripping the champagne flutes as his eyes drift back over to the booth.

-

They’re polite as they exit, leaving a _more_ than generous tip. As Charles is wiping down the table, he sees Daniel outside, smoking with the team as a few of them swipe on their phones for local bars. A soft pillow of cigarette smoke flowing out of his lips as he _visibly_ looks Charles up and down. Charles swallows and his cheeks turn a sweet colour of rose again, his throat tightening when Daniel winks at him. Then he’s gone. And Charles hopes he’ll return. Cross his heart and hope to die.

-

The next few days are quiet with the usual regulars. There’s been no sign of Ricciardo yet and Charles can’t help feel a little dissapointed, it’s a little silly for him to seem so attached to him after a few causal looks and a wink. The bell rings again and Charles is in the back corner holding some menus to his chest, with Max on the pedestal near the door. And then he’s _there_. But he’s with a lady. And Charles feels himself deflate. Of course, how could he be so silly. _Of course._

Charles suddenly has to go into the kitchen, _for ketchup_ he tells himself. Table 4 needs a top up, even though they dont top up sauces. He doesn’t miss the way Ricciardo meets his eyes as he moves from his post, but he misses the flash of concern that glazes over them when he sees Charles’s expression fall into something sad.

-

Charles can’t exactly hide from customers forever, and it isn’t long until Ricciardo approaches the bar. Charles stiffens and swallows hard, praying his voice doesn’t embarrass him.

“Charles, right?”

And his voice is smooth. Max didn’t say a word about the husky Australian accent.

“Er- Ye-Yes.” Charles swallows again, pinching the soft skin on the inside of his arm.

Daniel smiles sweetly, resting his arm on the black marble bar top. “Can I get a neat whiskey? On the rocks?”

 _Whiskey drinker_. Charles would have taken him as more of a beer man, but it suits his look, a soft glass of whiskey clutched between those golden fingers.

“Any wine?” Charles asks, the script he’s learnt for couples, _on dates_ , flowing straight through his lips.

“Hm? _Oh_ \- uh, no thanks. Just the whiskey, and your number.”

Charles almost drops the glass right infront of Ricciardo. It hits the marble with a clatter and paints him bright rouge, his fingers scrapping for grip as the sound echos through the room, cutting through the music on the radio. Daniel chuckles louder than he did before, it’s smooth and sweet like honey.

Charles clears his throat and pours the whiskey over the sphere of ice, before pushing the glass forward towards Riccardo, turning to add the drink to his tab. When he turns, Daniel brings the drink to his lips as a smile pulls the corners up, and then he’s back at the table.

-

The lady leaves half an hour before closing time, leaving Ricciardo at the table on his own. He sips the same glass of whiskey, watered down and warm, his top button undone. He asks Max for the bill who pesters Leclerc to take it to him, and after some shoving of paper, Leclerc gives in.

Charles is nervous, really nervous, but he sucks the feeling down into his gut and places the bill on the table, his fingers sliding back up the square tray held against his chest.

“Was everything okay for you tonight?” He asks, as Ricciardo’s hazy eyes meet his, a soft red coating Daniel’s own cheeks.

“Absolutely, everything was delcious, especially _you._ ” He drawls, as his arm moves to hand Charles the bills of cash. He’s very obviously drunk, but that doesn’t stop Charles from blushing profusely. And then suddenly, Daniel’s stood up, albeit a little wobbly.

He grips Charles’s elbow softly, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, and Charles feels like he’s about to _combust_. His voice is thick and heavy. “Meet me outside La Riviera tomorrow, 8pm.”

And then he’s _gone._ Leaving poor Leclerc a blushing frozen mess, the bills crumpled and strangled between his fingers.

-

Charles is nervous to say the least. It took him hours to decide on a good outfit, about ten different combinations of shirts and jeans, and four different pairs of shoes. He’s a little early, but it’s not too cold and he doesn’t mind really. He’s watching the inside of the club from the bottom of the marble steps, as the bouncers shuffle around, guiding people in.

Charles sits down on the steps at 8:10, the cold marble hitting his jeans as he huffs, checking his watch.

Daniel said 8pm. _Right?_

-

It hits 8:20 when Charles starts to feel like this was all a joke. Daniel was drunk after all, and he probably wasn’t thinking. He feels the tightness in his chest get worse. Ricciardo still isnt here, and Charles just feels like going home and eating pizza. He stands up, embarrased and teetering on the verge of tears.

Then he hears a shout and a clatter of footsteps. Ricciardo’s there, his hair messy and his top button loose again.

“Charles! Jesus christ I am _so_ sorry the meeting went way over and I had to- hey, what’s tha’ matter?”

And then Charles realises he probably saw the tears.“I’m okay. Just the cold.” He replies, his heart softening a little and the tightness eases.

“Cmon, we’re missing all the fun!” Daniel laughs as he drags Leclerc up the marble steps, their hands connected.

Charles feels a little warmer.

-

The club is incredibly lively, and Charles is in awe at the beauty of the building. This place is renowned for its long wait list, and the thought of just being able to simply walk right in with Daniel hits Charles in the gut a little. It’s simply surreal.

Daniel’s holding both of his hands as Charles gawks around, both of them stood by the bar.

“Cool right?! What do you want to drink?” Ricciardo shouts over the speakers, the strobe lights turning his skin every shade of the rainbow.

“Erm- a cocktail?” Charles replies, his voice a little squeaky. He leaves Charles for a second as he leans on the bar, and the man just goes back to staring at everything around him. Max would be _so_ jealous right now. And Charles can’t wait to blab all about it to him.

Daniel comes back with their drinks and shouts something about seeing the roof terrace, so Charles just nods and lets Ricciardo pull him along again.

And the roof terrace is beautiful. The air is warm and soft again, and the music is muffled by the glass. You can hear the nightly commotion of the traffic beneath them. It’s _heavenly_.

“Oh mon _Dieu._ ” Charles whispers under his breath, frozen in place as Daniel giggles at him. “Pretty, right?” And Charles nods. The view is beautiful, and the night life of Monaco has him caught in the headlights.

“That’s not the only pretty view.” Charles looks up at him, clutching the cocktail glass between his fingers as he turns another shade of rouge.

“You’re too kind Daniel. This is more than I could ever ask for.” Charles laughs sheepishly, sitting on the soft bench by the railings.

“But why me?” He asks Ricciardo. The driver’s taken back a little as he leans against the railings, another whiskey in his hands. “Why _not_ you?”

“Well i’m not exactly a person of interest. I-I’m not famous, I just served you a few times at the bar. I don’t understand.”

Daniel puffs out a breath as he sits beside Leclerc, his fingers tapping against the glass.

“I don’t know either. Something was shouting at me that it was _you_. You were so, just pretty and enchanting.”

And that turns Leclerc bright red, deeper than he’s ever been before. He scoffs, his feet shuffling as he looks down at the grey paving.

“ _Charles_ ,” Daniel whispers, and it sounds loud. Their eyes lock, Charles has hardly had any of his drink, but he feels woozy, like if he stood up he wouldn’t be able to walk in a straight line. Charles swallows, his throat thick as his mouth goes dry. “I mean it.”

Ricciardo’s leaning in. And Charles’s mind flashes back to that lady he was with in the bar. _He can’t_. His hands shoot up to Daniel’s chest, holding him in place, as the driver’s eyes open.

“Wait, what about the lady you were with?”

Daniel’s eyebrows knit together, the bridge of his nose scrunching. It’s _so cute_. “You mean my design manager?”

Now Leclerc feels stupid. “Oh.” And Daniel laughs, and Charles can feel it under his hand.

“Does that mean I can kiss you now?” Daniel laughs again, and Charles turns his red-cheeked face to the side, his chest locking up.

Daniel giggles, before placing his hand on Leclerc’s face, feeling the heat blossoming under the soft skin. “ _Charles_ ”

And before he knows it, their lips are connected and Daniel’s are so soft. Charles doesnt know what to do with his hands, so he keeps them there on Ricciardo’s chest, feeling the thump of his heart underneath. It’s a short kiss, and Charles chases the feeling when Daniel pulls them apart, whining incessantly.

_“Let me take you home.”_

Charles swoons, and the drinks are forgotten in favour of a taxi.

-

Daniel’s apartment is pretty. It’s minimal with gorgeous pieces of artwork. He’s got some trophies dotted around and Charles is gawking again. It’s not what he expected, but it suits the Ricciardo look.

“Catching flies again are we?” Daniel laughs, and Charles snaps his mouth shut as Daniel hands him a glass of water.

Charles’s feet are sinking into the soft carpet, and he’s torn between wanting to sprawl across the velvet gray couch and wanting to snog the pants off Ricciardo. The latter would be a burst of fresh air, so he finishes off the glass of water, setting down the glass and snaking his arms around Daniel’s shoulders, his hands knitting into the soft curls at the bottom of his head.

“No, but I might be catching something else.” Charles drawls, liquid courage bubbling up in his throat as he connects their lips again. It’s deeper this time, and Daniel’s hands are snaking further down to Charles’s ass. Daniel’s tongue runs along the seam of Charles’s lips, drawing a soft moan out of the younger man, and suddenly the room is really hot.

“C’mere.” Daniel drawls, pulling Charles along to his bedroom, snaking his hands under Charles’s shirt, feeling the hot skin underneath as his lips latch onto Leclerc’s neck.

“Daniel, _s’il vous plaît_..” Charles whispers as whimpers bubble out of his lips, his fingers gripping the racer’s shoulders.

“Hmn I know that one.” Ricciardo mumbles with a grin, his stubble scratching Charles’s neck as he whimpers again. “Lemme suck you off, pretty boy.” Daniel says, pushing Leclerc onto the bed softly.

Charles crawls back up the bed as Daniel unbuttons his own shirt, revealing that sweet golden skin. The white cotton drapes across his shoulders as he kisses along Leclerc’s belt, his eyes peeking up through his lashes. He’s _gorgeous_.

It isnt long until Charles’s pants are thrown somewhere on the floor, his first few shirt buttons undone as his fingers snake into Daniel’s hair again, his head sinking back into the soft pillows as Ricciardo trails kisses up and along the inside of his thigh, drawing sweet sounds out of his lips.

Daniel swallows him down eagerly, making his toes curl into the sheets as he whines, the soft wet heat so addictive. “Fuck Dan- _Oh mon Dieu-_ ” Charles’s back arches off the bed as Daniel rises, and Leclerc is sweating, his chest rising fast. “You’re so fucking sexy jesus _christ baby._ ” And the pet name makes Charles blush hard, throwing an arm across his face as his lips quiver.

Daniel’s back on him and he isn’t slowing as Charles’s breath comes out in heavy puffs, his chest rising and falling fast. “Shit- i’m-“

Charles is _embarrasingly_ close but Ricciardo isn’t slowing, and frankly doesn’t really care.

“Daniel w-wait i-“ Charles begs as he tries to pull Daniel off, the orgasm in the pit of his stomach bubbling high. Ricciardo doesn’t let up though, just continues and draws those sweet noises from his lips, and Charles is babbling, a mix of french and english, as his hips buck up into Daniel’s mouth. Ricciardo presses his hips down back into the bed and grips the side of his waist, and that’s all Charles needs to come in Daniel’s mouth with a cry of his name.

Ricciardo swallows as the poor man’s hips jerk through the sensitivity, milking him of everything he’s got until he’s whimpering and shaking on the sheets.

“Holy _shit_ -“ Charles giggles, the comedown hitting him hard. Daniel crawls up beside him, leaning on his elbows as Leclerc tries to bring himself back. Theres a _very_ obvious tent in his suit pants, and Charles giggles again as he crawls into Daniel’s lap, tasting himself on the racer’s lips.

The street lamps flood the room with that same gorgeous golden light, and Charles can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.


End file.
